


Plat du jour

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Flirting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:44:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles is the new waiter at this restaurant and derek happens to be a very regular client? shameless flirting follows? maybe?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plat du jour

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe ;)

Derek comes to “Yumyums” every Tuesday and Friday for his lunch, and every two Thursday for his coffee break, when the restaurant turns into a coffee place.

Without failing, for the past 11 months.

Now, the whole staff knows him, and on Tuesdays, he always gets the same waiter.

Isaac is a pretty good waiter to have as a “regular”: careful, polite, not overly present but always spotting when Derek needs something.

No, really, there is a reason why Derek returns to the place, and it sure isn’t the endless breadsticks that seem to have been cooked during the Great Depression.

 But last Tuesday, Isaac said that he had been allowed in the kitchen as commis, and that Derek would get a new waiter.

Derek isn’t really obsessive and controlling, no matter how much Laura insists that he is, anally so, but he feels on edge when he enters the restaurant the following Tuesday, looking around to see if Scott or Erica are around.

If he doesn’t get Isaac to wait on him, he might as well have someone he knows, you know.

But Erica is behind the bar, and Scott’s uneven jaw is nowhere to be seen.

Dammit.

“Hello, sir, I have been told that you are a regular and that I should take care of you like a mother hen,” a charming voice comes from behind him, and Derek doesn’t have the time to turn in his seat that the young man the voice belongs to is in front of him, standing prim and proper in his white shirt and dark pants.

From a completely uninterested point of view, Isaac filled those pants amazingly.

But this man.

This man.

Has legs that seem to go for miles, for one, and Derek’s mouth waters at the way his torso is shaped like a Dorito cracker.

Yumyum indeed.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Derek says, getting the man’s attention from his notepad.

Oh, yeah, Derek could get used to that.

“Call me Stiles,” the waiter replies, mouth twisted into a crooked smile as he looks at Derek. “And now I wonder,” he adds thoughtfully, as if he’s talking to himself.

“What?”

“Ever since they hired me,” Stiles starts explaining as he produced a pichet of water out of nowhere and pours Derek a tall glass of it—complete with two and a half ice cubes and half a slice of lemon, like he likes it, what the Hell—, “I’ve been told about you.”

“I’m not sure if I’m flattered or creeped out,” Derek replies, and Stiles shrugs, leaving him the choice between the two.

“I’ve been told how you take your water, and not to let your glass get empty,” he continues. “I’ve been instructed not to come and ask you if everything is to your liking because I would know if you were not satisfied. I’ve been told to let you clean the plate with bread before moving it away from you. But a major piece of information has been left out.”

“Oh?” Derek says—man of a few words through and through. He’s decided to be flattered by the staff’s knowledge of his habits, but there is a little voice in his head, one that sounds like Laura, that says that it’s because he’s really, dangerously predictable.

But there is another voice, entirely his own, telling the first one to shut up because there is a cute man who knows what Derek likes right there.

Stiles puts his hand on the table, close to Derek’s and leans closer. “They didn’t tell me how devastatingly handsome you were,” he whispers with that damned crooked smile that Derek wants to kiss off of his face.

And something in the way the crooked smile stretches into a beaming smirk tells Derek that Stiles apparently read his mind.

Useful talent for a waiter.

Derek opens and closes his mouth and blinks at Stiles, who is straightening up and scrunching his nose at something or someone behind Derek.

A quick look over his shoulder lets him know that Erica is vigorously making hand gestures at Stiles, promising or threatening, he can’t tell for sure.

“Ahem.”

Derek returns his attention to Stiles, who is once again holding his notepad, back straight and the smile gone from his face—but Derek is delighted to see that it’s not gone from his eyes.

“Today’s special is the pizzetta bianca, artichoke, chicken and grated parmesan,” Stiles says, and his voice is just as enthusiastic as before. “Available with a side of aragula and lemon zest, and I highly recommend the Moroccan Gris to drink with it if you can drink wine.”

“I probably shouldn’t,” Derek replies, and he really shouldn’t, because he has to go back to a meeting with—with Peter. “But I definitely need it to deal with my afternoon, so go ahead.”

Stiles smiles as he takes notes. “One glass?”

And Derek entirely blames Stiles’ scrunched nose and his long legs and his elegant fingers and his crooked smile on the slightly out of body experience that follows.

“Or two, if you can join me.”

Who said that?

From the way Stiles blinks owlishly at him, from the way Erica obviously dropped a glass, from the sudden silence ringing in his ears, he said that.

“Aaaaaaaas much as I’d love to,” Stiles finally says, an adorable blush spreading high on his cheeks, “I don’t think that would be very professional.”

“Oh. Of course,” Derek mumbles, pulling his phone to hide his embarrassment. “No, I understand. I’ll take one special and one glass of wine, thank you.”

The dismissal is loud and clear, and Stiles nods curtly before leaving Derek alone with his glass of water, his phone and his desire to hit his head against the table.

After what feels like an eternity of a blink, Derek can see Stiles returning to his table, holding a plate and a glass.

And then, to his surprise, pulling the chair in front of him and sitting down, his chin in his hand as he looks at Derek.

“Bon appétit,” Stiles says and Derek frowns at him. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m having lunch with you.”

“I thought it was unprofessional.”

“Oh it is, but I’m not known for doing what is …,” Stiles says, waving his hand around, “proper.”

Derek takes his glass of wine and deftly pours some of it in the empty glass in front of Stiles, waiting for Stiles to hold his own before raising his glass.

“To improper conduct.”

“To serendipity.”

“To Isaac working the kitchen.”

Stiles smiles and clinks his glass with Derek’s just as he trails his toes against Derek’s ankle. “To devastatingly handsome customers with a weird taste.”

“I’ll have you know that my taste in all things is beyond criticism.”

“In all things?”

“In all things.”

Stiles reaches for a piece of Derek’s piazzetta and takes a generous bite of it. “That seems awfully cocky of you,” he comments and Derek shrugs with a smirk.

“That’s me, devastatingly handsome and cocky.”

“Good to know.”

“What about you?” Derek asks, lightly smacking Stiles’ fingers.

“What about me?”

“You have me summed up,” Derek says, cutting his pizza delicately. “What about you?”

“Who am I, in two adjectives?”

Derek nods, his mouth full.

Stiles hums, thinking it through. “I’m Batman”, he says seriously, not even deepening his voice, and Derek feels a bubble of laughter building in his throat.

It’s been a while since he really laughed—since Peter came back from the Bermuda triangle, actually.

So he lets it out, bringing a beaming smile on Stiles’ face and God, that is spectacular.

“That smile should be illegal, dude,” Stiles says, hiding his smile behind his glass.

“You have another adjective to give me,” Derek says, and Stiles looks at him, focusing on Derek like not a lot of people usually do.

“What adjective would express that I’m going to rock your world?” he asks and Derek carefully pats his napkin at the corner of his lips before replying.

“Yummy.”


End file.
